


if you'll be my bodyguard, i can be your long-lost pal

by lanyon



Category: Captain America (2011), Marvel (Movies), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Team Dynamics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-05-06
Updated: 2012-05-10
Packaged: 2017-11-04 22:42:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/399004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lanyon/pseuds/lanyon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which the Winter Soldier fails to kill Captain America and is brought in out of the cold, bringing with him a myriad of issues, a little charm, a lot of style and a whole heap of unrequited love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> +Title, naturally, from Paul Simon's _You Can Call Me Al_.  
>  +Big thanks to [haipollai](http://archiveofourown.org/users/haipollai), [surlelac](http://archiveofourown.org/users/surlelac), [ellievolia](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ellievolia) & everyone on Twitter and in chat for some amazing encouragement.  
> +Also, thanks to Dani, for the _Thelma and Louise_ suggestion.

The Winter Soldier flexes his muscles and he flexes his cybernetic hand and he moves, hooded, through the Hermitage and the tinny voice in his air tells him that Captain America is alone and unarmed. Captain America is guided by detour signs and agents and he follows, obediently, like a good citizen to the place where he will die. There are dust motes floating in the air, gliding through the slanted slats of light. It is a peaceful place to die, the Winter Palace, and the Nicholas Hall is high-ceilinged and empty, in preparation for a future exhibition. The Winter Soldier steps forward and he freezes and the icy irony is not lost on him as he comes face to face with Steve Rogers, who’s woefully underdressed for the St Petersburg winter. The Winter Soldier was expecting Captain America but it is Steve Rogers who drops the sketchpad he was carrying, his eyes widening (and his eyes always did look too big for his face, when his head was too big for his body), and loose sheets of paper flutter out and the Winter Soldier can feel his own lips move in an unfamiliar shape (and it is so very long since he has smiled).

He is not surprised when Natalia Romanova appears. He thinks that maybe, as of this moment, he is incapable of surprise and, with her thighs clamped either side of his head and his voice so rusty with disuse, it is all he can do to laugh at the familiarity and _do you come here often?_ and Natalia sedates him and he remembers nothing of the battle to take custody of him and he remembers little of his subsequent incarceration at the hands of General Ross. It is like Zola, it is like the Russians and now the Americans strap him to a table and poke at him and prod him and, instinctively, he tries to force his mind away but he has long since run out of safe places. His safe places were gouged out of him decades ago and replaced with dark, murderous thoughts, like thick, clotting blood, and so he became the Winter Soldier.

He remembers the rescue, though, and he remembers pink lips shaping the word _Bucky_ and how his hand is drawn like a magnet to press against the reinforced glass of his cell, mirroring a red-gloved hand, and he thinks he loses consciousness again and maybe he imagines the guy with the bow and arrow.

When he wakes up in a hospital bed and Steve is there, dressed neatly in plaid and khakis, his fingers wrapped loosely around the Winter Soldier’s wrist, he thinks he remembers who he is. He thinks he laughs but then he coughs himself into unconsciousness.

.

He wakes. He sleeps. He wakes. He screams. He roars. His voice is hoarse and his throat is shredded and he is just soldier, soldier, the Soldier and he is the Winter Soldier and he catches sight of a circular shield, concentric rings like a target and he tries to hurl himself out of the hospital bed but his legs and his arms are strapped to the railings of the bed and this isn’t the first time he has tried to kill Captain America. There was the time in Brooklyn and the time in the Met, there was the time in the British Museum and there was the time in St Petersburg when snow fell in whispers outside and failure is not tolerated and the edges of his thoughts are thick and clotting blood.

.

He is in Brooklyn. He is all flesh and blood and Steve is all skin and bone but then he opens his eyes and feels the hot drag of a tear and the Winter Soldier does not cry, no more than he smiles, and there are concerned expressions and frenzied beeping and this time, sleep is a welcome oblivion, away from prying eyes and surely he imagines the cool brush of lips over the knuckles of his right hand.

Chain of custody means little to him; he was in St Petersburg, on a mission to kill an icon, and then he was strapped to a table in rural Pennsylvania in the tender loving care of General Ross, and now he is in Manhattan and SHIELD has closed ranks.

He is not in Brooklyn and there is no distant war come to turn him into a soldier (no distant war come to turn Steve into a hero).

.

Bucky emerges from the fog and some days are better than others. Steve never stays long. His expression is guarded and he takes care not to wear colours that might trigger off the wrath that is not Bucky. He does not wear red gloves and he leaves his shield locked away and he is confident that he can hold Bucky off, cybernetic arm or not.

Some days, Bucky recognises him, like the first day, and some days, he looks blankly at Steve. Some days, he screams and tries to tear off his left arm and those are the days when the restraints are a necessary evil (in case he tries to tear off his right arm and succeeds).

Steve is only too aware of the battle that rages in boardrooms between Fury and Ross and any number of interested parties. SHIELD stands firm, though, and Fury, Hill and Coulson are a formidable trinity. They fight tooth and nail to keep Bucky in their custody and there is an exhaustive line-up of medical and psychiatric professionals who testify that the Winter Soldier is redeemable. One day, they call Steve to testify and he is Captain America today and though he prefers actions to words, he is a man guided by his heart and by his duty.

He speaks of Sergeant James Barnes and his bravery and he does not dwell (will not, cannot dwell) on Bucky’s fall from the train and his fall from grace.

Do you deny that the Winter Soldier has tried to kill you? he is asked and he stands tall, and shrugs, and says that he is very much alive because Bucky Barnes would never kill Steve Rogers. Steve has saved Bucky twice but Bucky saved him countless times, when they were children and gawky adolescents and when they were soldiers. The balance is firmly tipped in the favour of Bucky Barnes and Steve will thank the council and all the agencies to remember that.

He turns on his heel. He doesn’t want any more questions, he says. He’s said his piece, he says. He is Captain America and he has not chosen the Avengers but he chooses Bucky and he is not above blackmail. Coulson’s expression does not change much but there is a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth like Steve has just out-bluffed Ross and the WSC and the FBI and the CIA. SHIELD might be more than the sum of its parts, on a good day, but on a day like this, on a glorious and triumphant day, Captain America towers over everyone.

You’ve got yourself a sidekick, says Clint, two days later and Steve’s eyes widen because that was never his intention. He doesn’t stop to ask how Clint knows before he does because he knows about Clint’s deep love of eavesdropping and hidden places; he just sprints to Medical, to Bucky’s quiet room near the nurses’ station, and he hopes that he is having a good day.

Bucky is not having a good day but he’s not the Winter Soldier today. His eyes are overflowing with tears and he is confused and his voice is a weak and broken Steve and Steve is left breathless and aching because he can hear an echo of Peggy Carter in the seconds before the ice took him and Bucky’s left hand grips his fingers tightly and it is just another way to freeze.

Steve stands up and presses his lips to Bucky’s forehead and Bucky raises his hand and Steve feels metal around his throat but Bucky fumbles his way around to the back of Steve’s head and holds him there, like he needs the benediction of Steve’s breath and Steve doesn’t know how long he stands, his nose tickled by Bucky’s hair, long now, and dishevelled. Eventually, Bucky sleeps and his arm falls away and Steve has to leave the room because he cannot have the taste of Bucky’s skin on his lips and remain unaffected by the familiarity and the intense sense of loss.

Clint is waiting outside Medical and Steve wonders if he’s been here all evening but it’s always so hard to tell with Clint because he tends to look half-asleep at the best of times and Steve knows that it’s an incredibly convincing act. Clint is invariably lying in wait, like any bird of prey or predator.

“How is he?”

Steve can only shrug, worrying at his lips with his teeth, because he does not know the answer. He thought there’d be an improvement by now and he supposes he should take heart from the fact that Bucky only rarely tries to kill him now and Steve can easily overpower him. (Steve will lie, when asked how he got the black eye or the bruises on his knuckles, because Bucky is not always Bucky.)

“Do you want to come for a drink?”

And now Steve’s shoulders slump because he’d really like to be able to get drunk and Clint slaps him on the back. “Of course you do.”

They go to a nearby bar, which is a little Irish and a little sports, and Tony is throwing peanuts at the TV screen because, apparently, he’s very invested in the outcome of women’s tennis. Steve is surprised to see that everyone is here. It’s not just the Avengers but Coulson, Hill and Fury, too. There is a celebratory air and Bucky’s still lying in Medical and Steve feels a little flare of anger but he understands that this has been a victory for SHIELD. The Winter Soldier is theirs, however broken he may be, and he is Steve’s, which should be glorious but he wonders if he has done Bucky a disservice. Sidekick, indeed.

Bruce moves along the bench to make room for Steve and tells him that he may be able to concoct a cocktail that’ll let Steve get a little buzzed. It sounds like some sort of Frankenstein hybrid of a Long Island Iced Tea and a Manhattan and Steve is nothing if not a New Yorker. It comes in a pint glass and Thor decides that he wants one too. It doesn’t get Steve drunk but he finds that his limbs are temporarily warm and his brain is briefly numbed and that is no bad thing. Bruce takes notes and Clint, perched on the bar-top, in spite of the bartender’s entreaties to get the fuck down, starts air-drumming to Alone by Heart and Steve feels a surge of affection for his team that may have nothing to do with alcohol.

“That was well done the other day, Cap,” says Fury. “General Ross hates me but-“ He shrugs and flashes his teeth in a grin oddly reminiscent of Natasha. “That’s hardly new.”

Coulson is coaxing Clint down from the bar and it seems to take very little effort on his part as Clint slings an arm over his shoulders and pats him in the centre of his chest. Clint is properly drunk and smiling amiably and telling Coulson that he’s always liked him but then he gets distracted by whatever song is currently playing and he starts bellowing it out, and Tony joins in, and so does Hill and Thor doesn’t know the words but it doesn’t stop him smashing glasses in his approval. Bruce looks up, startled, and Natasha starts to laugh while Coulson covers his face with the hand that’s not around Clint’s waist.

“This is your highly dedicated team of professionals, sir?” asks Steve in a low murmur, though he’s finding it hard not to smile.

“When they’re this rowdy, they’re your team, Cap.”

Steve’s brow wrinkles at that because this team was never meant to gravitate towards each other in the way that it has and yet they are all here, in the Elk’s Head. They have all slotted together, like misshapen jigsaw pieces, and it’s possible that these are his friends.

.

Time passes, in a haze of hope and searing loss and Captain America’s tireless grace under fire.

 

.

Time passes and it is decided that Bucky is stable enough to start physical therapy which mostly means that he can work out, under close medical supervision and Tony instantly volunteers to be part of the security detail.

“Who the fuck are you?” demands Bucky, folding his arms. He’s lost quite a bit of muscle bulk but being tied to a hospital bed will do that to a guy. Still, he can look intimidating when he wants to and he’s got a thousand-yard stare to freak out even the most jaded shrink they send in.

“My name is Tony Stark, Sergeant Barnes,” says Tony brightly and obliviously as he drops a toolbox on the ground and takes a computer out of his rucksack. “Now gimme.”

“Give you what, pal?” asks Bucky, taking a step back. He’s wearing SHIELD-issue training clothes which probably makes this guy think they’re on the same side but Bucky has no idea what side he’s on because everything is still a little foggy. His thoughts are less dull-and-rusty brown, though, and have begun to flow the colour of bright, throbbing crimson. “Wait. You’re a Stark. Any relation-?”

“Only by blood,” says Tony and he’s got this unnerving smile and a slightly twitchy demeanour and Bucky can’t tell if it’s impatience or genuine dislike that his heritage speaks for him. He relents a little. “Howard was my father. And, no, he never talked about you.”

Bucky snorts. People seldom talked about Sergeant James Barnes when Captain America’s shadow loomed large. There’s electricity through his veins at the very thought of Captain America and he clenches his left fist. Tony instantly holds up both hands. “Okay, man, I don’t know what you’re packing but please don’t point that shit at me.”

It’s with great effort that Bucky relaxes and he’s had hours and hours of therapists and doctors and Director Fury himself telling him that he has to work with SHIELD because their hold on him is tenuous at best, even after he was championed by the great Steve Rogers. He takes a deep breath and opens his fist.

He grunts in Tony’s direction. “You break it, you bought it, buddy.”

Tony’s like a vulture falling on carrion and Bucky looks away as Tony hooks wires and god knows what else to his arm. He only looks back when he hears hammering and Tony is actually beating at a panel with the handle of a screwdriver and it’s all Bucky can do not to pull away.

“This is precision equipment, you know,” says Bucky, a little irritably. He’s pretty sure he was disarmed (so to speak) by General Ross’ group because if he’d had even minimal fire power, he’d have been on his way back to Moscow weeks ago. The urge to flee to Russia is largely dormant but everything is still kind of itchy under his skin, like he’d rather be anywhere but here.

“Whatever. I’m a professional. Just hold still-“

“Tony, what are you doing?” Tony starts guiltily and looks over his shoulder. Bucky tenses as he turns, too. It’s not that he needs to confirm that it’s Steve because his is the voice Bucky learned to follow decades ago but he wants to look and he wants to see.

“Little bit of maintenance, Cap,” says Tony, waving his screwdriver at Steve, who looks a little pale, and he’s worrying his lower lip to a dark red, like the ever-retreating corners of Bucky’s bloodiest dreams.

“I thought you were here to observe,” says Steve and he walks towards them both. He’s wearing SHIELD-issue sweats and there is nothing symbolic about him today, apart from his height and the width of his shoulders, and his kind and worried eyes.

“He’s observing with power tools,” says Bucky, as brightly as he can pretend to be. “You needn’t worry, Stark. Ross did a number on it so it’s not going to self-destruct or anything.” He feels faintly disgusted as he looks at the dull metallic sheen. “It’s just an arm.”

Steve stiffens and Bucky can just guess that he wants to say something to make it better but if all Bucky needed were Steve’s painfully earnest speeches, he’d’ve been out of Medical a long time ago.

“You here to spar, Cap?” he asks, raising his eyebrows. “If Stark’ll stop drooling over my arm, I’m pretty sure I could take you –“ That earns a slap from Tony and a scarlet blush from Steve.

“You – you’re not authorised to spar with any agents,” says Steve, stumbling over the words because he clearly doesn’t think of himself as an agent. He gestures at a treadmill. “I was just going to run a bit. It’s still icy outside.”

“Yeah,” mutters Stark, just about loud enough for Bucky to hear. “Icy with a chance of groupies, you pussy.”

Bucky laughs and startles everyone in the room, including himself, and he doesn’t dwell overlong on the outside world and all its winter. Steve looks wary but gets on the treadmill anyway and soon the room is filled with the thud-thud of his steady pace and Tony humming under his breath and Bucky’s blood pumping slowly in his ears, a little out of sync with Steve’s strides. It’s almost peaceful; it’s almost normal apart from the agents around the perimeter of the room, all armed with stun guns.

Clint joins them in a while and he’s the guy with the bow and arrows who was the other half of the team that extracted Bucky from Ross’ tender, loving care. Bucky’s predisposed to like him, insofar as he likes anyone in this place. Bucky’s slightly surprised that Clint enters the training room through the ceiling but no one else bats an eyelash so apparently this is normal behaviour. Clint tips him an easy salute and Bucky guesses that Clint’s either never been military or has done his utmost to shake it off.

“Be careful with Stark,” says Clint as he gets on the treadmill next to Steve’s. “He once threatened to weld my bow to my arm. Don’t go nailing, like, kitchen appliances to the nice man’s scary metal arm, okay, Stark?”

“Stuff it, Barton,” says Stark. “I’m a fucking professional.”

“So you said,” says Bucky quietly and maybe there’s a slightly amused edge to his tone.

Tony raps him on the knuckles with his screwdriver and raises his voice. “Don’t make me attach a coffee machine to your arm, man. I will, you know, and then you’ll be Coulson’s best friend and Clint’ll be jealous.”

“Fuck you, Stark. I’m Coulson’s favourite,” says Clint.

“Ha, right. Everyone knows that Captain America’s Coulson’s favourite. Hey!” Tony looks down, startled, as Bucky’s hand forms a fist and Bucky has to take a deep breath.

“Reflex,” he says, weakly, and he concentrates on extending his fingers again, keeping his gaze averted from Steve, whose footsteps never falter, even as the blood in Bucky’s ears pounds faster.

.

There is a relapse. Bucky screams his throat raw and it is because he has spent so many weeks awake and now it’s spring, verging on summer, and the last time he saw this many consecutive seasons, he was on Continental Europe, in the middle of a war that is dimming in the memories of old men. It’s easier not to be Bucky, sometimes, because the Winter Soldier doesn’t feel and he doesn’t think. He just emerges when required and he is sent to frozen oblivion when his services are not necessary. Bucky thinks that, maybe, that’s what General Ross would have recommended; pre-conditioning and re-conditioning and defrosting and re-freezing and slap a Stars-and-Stripes over his red star and Bucky Barnes would be another abomination, all in the name of America.

Bucky attacks Steve. He throws him against the bank of heart-and-vitals monitors and then Steve is pinning him to the ground, his forearm on Bucky’s throat as Bucky spits Russian curses and vitriol at him.

Steve doesn’t come to see him again. Bucky thinks that maybe he’s been told to stay away and it hurts that Steve thinks it’s necessary. It hurts that Steve can’t just be Steve and keep Captain America at bay, the way Bucky’s expected to be anything but the Winter Soldier and his clotting, cloying, iron-bright thoughts.

Clint comes to visit, after the screaming subsides and the sedative wears off and James Barnes emerges, and Bucky thinks it’s the middle of the night but he doesn’t have windows so he doesn’t know.

“So, basically, they’d fucking thaw you out when they needed you and put you back again?” Clint asks and lets out a low whistle when Bucky nods.

“Well, that sucks.”

“Pretty much,” says Bucky, holding a cold compress to his forehead, trying to ward off the throbbing pain of remembrance.

“You want me to go get Cap? He was worried about you.” Clint’s hand jerks in a rare, unstudied gesture. “Still is. Like maybe it’s his fault. He’s still fighting for you, though.”

“I don’t need him to-“ Bucky cuts himself off. He knows that Steve has sworn blind that Bucky didn’t know what he was doing; that he didn’t know Steve; that he would have attacked anyone who’d been unfortunate enough to walk in at that time.

Clint shrugs, like it’s no skin off his nose. “Whatever, man. Hey, Cap’s always talking about how good a shot you are.”

Bucky closes his eyes and something like a smirk graces his lips. “Best in the 107th,” he says and he doesn’t stop to think how that memory bubbled up with ease, ahead even of the many successful, long-range eliminations he has carried out as the Winter Soldier.

“Wanna put your money where your mouth is?”

And even though Bucky doesn’t have any actual money, or any possessions other than his own body, and some of that doesn’t even belong to him, Clint’s challenge is enough to get him out of bed and trailing along behind Clint for an unauthorised visit to the shooting range.

“I’m pretty sure that I’m not allowed to play with projectiles,” says Bucky, his voice a lazy drawl. His pulse picks up a little at the thought of having a target in his sights, like so many concentric rings. “Aren’t you afraid that I could kill you, Barton?”

Clint just laughs. “Fuck that, man. The second we stepped outta Medical, I figured that Coulson and Fury’ll string me up anyway. Might as well have a little fun before I go.”

So, Bucky finds himself on the SHIELD shooting range, in the dead of night, engaged in an entirely unauthorised shooting match with the Avengers’ fabled marksman.

“This seems a little unfair,” he says.

Clint blinks, his eyes wide in an approximation of innocence that’s just a little too good to be believe. “Hey, I’m not the one who’s half-cyborg, here.”

“If I’d my arm the way it’s supposed to be, you wouldn’t stand a chance, Agent,” says Bucky as he deftly reloads. They’re on the small handgun round now and, though Bucky holds his own, Clint’s superiority is more than evident.

“Why’s that? Does it improve your aim?”

“Nah, but I could shoot these little bolts of electricity at your head.” Bucky’s delivery is deliberately flat and he looks Clint up and down. “But I don’t think your hair could stand up anymore than it already does.”

Clint’s grin slips briefly before he starts to laugh. He goes so far as to slap Bucky on the back. “Aw, man, I hope we get to keep you.” He slings his arm around Bucky’s shoulder and tips his head back and he must know that there are security cameras trained on them. “Coulson, can we keep him?”

Bucky’s faintly stunned; Clint’s touching him like they’re friends and, for a moment, he wonders if Clint knows who he is (as though the arm and the dead eyes and the screaming haven’t given it away). He doesn’t have time to respond when all of the lights go up and there are a dozen red dots on his chest.

“Put down your weapon, Sergeant Barnes,” sounds out a strident female voice and Bucky sets the gun on the table before half a dozen SHIELD agents dogpile him. He can see a pair of shiny black shoes and the start of a sentence (“Hawkeye, what in blazes -?”) before he feels a pinch in the side of his neck and the sedation kicks in pretty quickly.

.

Steve is pacing. He’s aware that every time he turns on his heel, Clint flinches but Steve’s not about to apologise. They’re in a conference room where Steve’s relatively certain no one will overhear but he has learned how difficult it is to keep secrets in this place and in this time.

“What were you thinking, Agent Barton?” he asks, eventually. His voice is calm and steady. There is nothing to give away his rage (his anxiety) other than a flush in his cheeks.

“I was thinking that if Sergeant Barnes isn’t crazy already, then he’s sure as shit gonna end up that way if he stays cooped up in Medical much longer.”

“The doctors-“

“The doctors know shit. Sorry, Cap, but it’s true and you know it.”

Steve looks at Clint who’s looking back at him defiantly. Clint’s track record with the medics at SHIELD is patchy at best; he has more discharged against medical advice notes than the rest of the Avengers put together. Steve’s own experience with Medical has been pretty limited since he emerged from the Arctic. Being almost invincible is a near-guarantee that Steve’s visits are confined to routine check-ups and the rarest head injury that usually resolves within hours. Steve exhales.

“What do you suggest, Barton?”

Clint looks at him, a little suspicious, like maybe Steve doesn’t actually want to hear his opinion, but he’s clearly stubborn enough to stay the course. “He’s gotta get out of Medical, Cap. I mean, I get that people want to keep him under wraps and all but I go stir-crazy in there after a day and he’s been there for what?”

“One hundred and three days,” says Steve.

“Not like you’ve been counting or anything, huh?”

Steve sighs again. “Look. Just. Leave it with me, Barton.” He lifts a hand and Clint is dismissed. “And no more fieldtrips with the Winter Soldier, okay?”

Clint pauses. “And what about James Barnes, Cap? Doesn’t he get a say?” He holds up his hands. “I know, I know. I’m outta here. Got it.” He sketches his customarily half-assed salute and leaves Steve to continue to his office, which is more like an overgrown closet but it can be a good place to think (or it was, until the rest of the Avengers found it and Natasha started keeping her dog-eared books on his shelves and Clint started hiding snackfood in the ceiling panel and Banner started hiding himself there when he wanted to be somewhere quiet).

“I heard a rumour that you had an office,” Tony says, materialising out of nowhere. He looks around with interest. “Bit tight around the shoulders, isn’t it?”

“How can I help you, Tony?” asks Steve. Whenever Steve sounds weary, it’s because he is emotionally wrung-out. He’s so rarely pushed to the limits of his physical endurance but now there’s a fine tremor in his hands and he needs to think and he knows that it won’t go unnoticed by someone like Stark.

“It’s less about me and more how you can help your fellow countrymen,” says Tony, rather grandly. “And I know how you love to do that.” He pauses and Steve lifts his head and looks at him, a little grimly. Tony grins back. “I’m talking about our ex-Commie assassin downstairs. Boy needs an outing, Steve.”

“Have you been talking to Barton?”

“Kid’s your sidekick, Cap. He’s going to think you’re avoiding him.”

“Bucky’s not – “ Steve pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes, warding off a headache that he’ll never experience. “He’s not a kid, Tony, and he’s not my sidekick. He’s my best friend.”

“He’s cooling his heels in Medical having had the shit sedated out of him because he went on a supervised walkabout. Now, I think it says a fair amount that he’s bonded with Clint, and with most of his security detail, and with everyone who goes to see him but -” Tony’s attempts to understand the human condition usually leave everyone frustrated, Tony most of all, but he is capable of very astute observations, and sometimes very obvious observations. “- well. You’re up here, Cap. I see no bonding.”

Steve feels a bit like an asshole. “I’ll figure something out,” he says because he doesn’t want to tell Tony that there’s every chance Bucky will try to kill him if he says the wrong thing or if he’s all Captain America and no Steve Rogers. He never thought that he was a dichotomy. He never believed that he changed once he picked up the shield but he knows that he should have known better; he has been immersed in Captain America since he arrived in this century and it is so difficult to be Steve Rogers alone. He doesn’t know when he lost himself; it might have been in the ice, or in the air, or in a headlong rush on a speeding train. Steve Rogers was a man known for his resilience and for his loyalty; Captain America cannot be a lesser man than that.

“Fury’ll listen to you,” says Tony and Steve thinks that’s meant to be encouragement. He picks up his sketchpad, curving it slightly in his hands. He needs to see Bucky.

.  
“I’m sorry.”

Bucky shouldn’t be surprised that these are Steve’s first words to him in a week. Steve’s carrying his sketchpad and Bucky knows that it’s a security blanket, like in that cartoon movie Bucky watched the other day, with bald kids and dogs and Beethoven.

“You’re a busy man.” Bucky’s voice sounds cold and harsh, even to his own ears, but it is hard to be forgiving. He pauses the DVD he’s watching and sets his book to the side. There are DVDs and CDs and books everywhere. He hates the clutter but it’s better than living out his days in a sterile, featureless room. Everyone has brought him movies to watch and books to read, from documentaries to dramas to something called a romcom, and it doesn’t keep him from going crazy.

“No,” says Steve because of course he must object. He has never liked making excuses. “I should have come sooner. I should have come all the time.” He sounds ashamed and yet Bucky doesn’t feel triumphant. “I’m sorry,” Steve says, again, looking at the floor. He takes a step towards Bucky, who’s lounging in an armchair and who hasn’t stood up even though he should be respectful of a superior officer. The thing is, Bucky doesn’t even know what his own rank is now, or if he has one. He thinks it was taken away from him, like his dog tags and his arm, decades ago.

“What – what’re you watching?” asks Steve.

Bucky looks back at the screen and frowns. “’s called _Thelma and Louise_. According to Darcy, it’s a classic.”

“Darcy’s been coming to see you?”

“Everyone has, Steve. ‘cept you.” Bucky still doesn’t feel triumphant, not even when Steve blushes deeper and looks genuinely pained. “C’mon. Sit down. I’ll catch you up.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m not going anywhere.” Bucky gestures at the bed because it’s the only other space to sit and even though it creaks alarmingly when Steve sits down, Steve looks pretty comfortable, with his sketchpad resting on his lap. Bucky offers him a smile because there’s something like nostalgia here, from the days when Steve’s fingers were perpetually ink-stained and his chest rattled with an ever-present cough and he was so very breakable and still in need of Bucky. Steve smiles back, his hands restless until he plucks a pencil out of his pocket and flips open his sketchpad. 

“So,” says Steve. He gestures at the television screen. “Darcy’s classic?”

Bucky grins, though it’s a little forced, and he puts his feet up on the bed and, if he wriggles his toes, he can nearly reach Steve’s ankle. “So, it’s about these two dames-“

.

Steve visits Bucky every day for a week. It feels almost normal, even though there are alleged decades and assassination orders between them. It has been a year since Steve emerged from the Arctic and so it has been a year since he left Peggy. It has been a year and a week since Bucky fell and that is not long enough to mourn, not by far. And yet, and yet, they tell him that years have passed and he can see that the world has changed; continental drift on fast-forward, nations have risen and fallen and his name shall live for evermore.

He wonders how the time has passed for Bucky, in the sixty-eight years since Steve failed to save him, in the year and the week since Steve last saw him, in the great gashes of time that have bled between them. The lines around Bucky’s eyes are less tight and sometimes they go to the rec room, with armed guards at the door, and Bucky plays table tennis with Clint, who vetoes the use of cybernetic arms (Steve’s participation has long since been vetoed, by virtue of the sheer number of ping-pong balls he has inadvertently crushed). 

Time passes, most of it in Bucky’s company, and sometimes Steve counts it by the clock over the door in Bucky’s room, and he counts it by the flashing display on the DVD player, and he counts it by the click-clack of another fierce table tennis game, and by the beat of his own heart and by the quiet whispers of the security detail and the clicking heels of Pepper and Darcy, who will reshape SHIELD into something even more frighteningly efficient, whether Fury likes it or not. 

Time passes and, perhaps with the striking of the next hour, they will fall in step once more.

.

The first time Bucky ever made Steve laugh, it triggered off an asthma attack that terrified them both into ashen-faced stillness.

.

This is good news, Steve says. Bucky doesn’t quite believe him. Steve is to go away for a month, or longer, on some sort of Avengers public relations tour. Steve hates politics; Bucky’s known that since before Senator Brandt and the war bonds and the all-singing, all-dancing Captain America. Steve hates politics but he’s going to go away and be a dancing monkey again and Bucky is not sure how this is good news until Steve explains that Bucky will have more freedom. He’ll be allowed more access within the building and maybe even some supervised expeditions outside. 

Despite it all, despite the movie evenings, which have become a sort of team effort, with Tony tinkering with Bucky’s arm while gesturing at the television screen, with Clint arriving into Bucky’s room with a bowl of popcorn and a harried-looking Agent Coulson, with Darcy waving a pink tablet around because constant access to the IMdB is vital for any viewing experience, with Natasha coiling up next to Bucky on the bed, with Bruce polishing his glasses and laughing and relaxed; despite this overwhelming sense of team, there are still risks. 

Buck has not tried to kill Steve for eighty-five days but there are still risks. This plan, this voluntary exile of Captain America, is to introduce Bucky to the real world without any distraction. 

If nothing else, declares Tony grandly, it means they can move movie night to the living room of the Avengers mansion. Natasha stretches like a cat and smiles. 

.

 

Bucky feels a little guilty; with Steve away, the atmosphere is less heavy. Our brooding hero has departed for more adventurous climes, leaving his sidekick to adapt, to stretch, to find his elbow room and to send off sparks. Bucky has a schedule now, though he’s mostly under house-arrest. He works out every morning and goes to the shooting range with Clint every afternoon. He reads and he listens to music and he’s made it as far as the Ramones and he thinks he likes them.

Humming _Baby I Love You_ to himself, he emerges from the weight room and walks straight into Darcy. It’s a comedy of errors. He goes left, she goes right and collides with his chest.

“I’m so sorry,” she says and he thinks that maybe she’s not just flushed because of exercise. He likes to think that because looking at Darcy Lewis is no hardship. “God, I’m so gross. I’m, like, sweating like a hambeast here.”

“I’d call it glowing,” he says and he can feel how his lips curve into a grin, like this is perfectly normal and there was a time when it was. Darcy smiles up at him and prods him on the chest.

“Stop that. There are rules, Sergeant Barnes.”

Bucky’s fascinated. Darcy’s the epitome of twenty-first century, as far as he can tell, talking about iPods and Starbucks and bullying even Tony Stark into submitting reports in a relatively timely manner. “What rules?”

“Fraternisation. Also, my boss would kick your ass.”

“Fraternisation?” Bucky says nothing about how he’s positive that he could take Phil Coulson, whatever the legends about the man. Bucky’s pretty sure that most of the rumours come from Clint, anyway, and Clint seems to have a natural bias for Coulson that lies somewhere between hero worship and plain-as-day lust.

“I’m not allowed date the help,” Darcy says, her hands on her hips and her chin raised.

“I’ve never been accused of being help before,” says Bucky. He scratches his cheek. “I think my role here is more like … household pet.”

“In which case, down, boy,” says Darcy but she’s laughing now and Bucky may be charming but he’s also charmed.

“Let me take you to dinner,” he says. It’s the best idea he’s had since he regained the capability of independent thought.

“I thought you weren’t allowed leave the premises without supervision.”

“Yeah, the supervision of a SHIELD employee.” He reaches out and taps her name badge, hanging on a lanyard around her neck. 

“You’re a horrible influence, Sergeant Barnes,” says Darcy. Her smile is wide and captivating.

“You’ve not said ‘no’ yet.”

She scrunches up her nose. “I’ve not said ‘yes’, either.”

Bucky leans in, though there’s not that much space between them and his arm grazes over the swell of her breasts as he lifts his hand (his right hand) to touch her cheek. “Pick me up at eight.”

He kisses her forehead and grins before he continues to the treadmills. He’s definitely getting the hang of 21st century America.

.

Steve’s absence from New York (from SHIELD HQ and from Bucky) is extended when a nascent HYDRA cell is discovered in Arizona. A massive covert operation is mounted and Clint and Natasha are secreted away, accompanied by Coulson. 

 

It seems that life goes on and Bucky’s rehabilitation continues apace and Steve is out in the fucking wilderness and Bucky’s skin itches. 

Darcy is a beautiful woman and they can’t really date, under the terms of Bucky’s probation and Darcy’s own ground-rules, but that does not stop them from eating lunch together in an Italian restaurant within the shadow of SHIELD’s building and it does not stop Bucky from pulling her into a deserted office and rucking up her skirt and burying his head between her thighs and he wonders if all girls in the twenty-first century go bare or whether that’s just Darcy but her fingers clench rhythmically in his hair and she is a new taste of freedom. 

(There are other encounters, in the locker room and at her cubicle, when she is the last intern at work, taking remote dictation from Agent Coulson in the field when her giggle is entirely unprofessional and she plants her hand in the centre of Bucky’s face to push him away and he bites at her palm and she drops the call and says that he’s going to get her fired.)

“What would you have called a woman like me in the forties?” she asks, her tone careful as she re-applies her lipstick. 

“Devastatingly beautiful,” says Bucky, watching her from his bed. It’s not a lie.

“You’re fucking adorable,” she says, like he’s a wayward schoolboy and she smiles at him and blows him a kiss, straightening her skirt as she goes back to work. “I can see why everyone’s crazy about you.”

“Aren’t you?” he asks, much later.

She scrunches up her face. “A little,” she says. It doesn’t hurt, this honesty. “But I know when I’m punching above my own weight.” She closes her hand around his metal hand. “I’m only human,” she says.

So am I, he wants to add, but he is somehow adorable, apparently, and he lies back down and remembers nights, so many years ago, when they were playing his song and the girls all fell over themselves to dance with him. 

.

Steve comes home. It’s been two months and four days and he misses New York. He doesn’t go straight to SHIELD. He thinks maybe he imagined Bucky except that someone gave Bucky a phone within the last week and Steve’s been getting texts and it stands to reason Bucky would adapt to SHIELD technology so fast. 

It feels like a long time; a month of polite smiles and attempts at diplomacy and shaking hands and kissing babies and then it is whiplash into a month of surveillance and a four-day ambush and he must believe it is for the greater good, whatever Nick Fury’s motivations.

Steve goes to his own apartment and then Tony is on the phone, or whatever it’s called when his face fills up Steve’s entire television screen. 

“Come down to the Elk’s Head,” says Tony. “We know you’re home. Barnes told us so.” There’s a wide grin. 

“You gave him a cellphone, huh?”

Tony’s grin doesn’t falter. “It’s like one of those ones you give to, like, toddlers. You can only dial two numbers. Dealer’s choice.”

Steve blinks. He doesn’t ask what other number Bucky chose. “Give me an hour, Tony.”

“Sure thing, Cap. Bruce is mixing the drinks. Welcome home.”


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bucky learns a little bit about liberty and Clint gives inadvertent (but sound) relationship advice.

When Steve arrives at the bar, he is greeted with a cheer and the realisation that the place is full of SHIELD employees. 

“Stark bought the place,” says Natasha. She rubs her nose as though that says everything and offers Steve a smile, or a quirk of the lips and it’s as though she’s been here all along, not holed up in Arizona with Steve for the past four weeks. “Welcome home, Captain Rogers.”

Tony and Bruce are behind the bar, and Clint’s sitting on top of it, and there is Bucky, perched right next to Clint, his arm slung around Darcy Lewis’ shoulders and Steve tells himself that he is happy that Bucky has friends. Bucky is smiling, though even from the doorway, Steve can see that the light in his eyes isn’t quite right, like there are too many shadows behind them.

He beckons Steve over and Steve is nothing if not awkward in company.

I won’t stay long, he wants to say, but what he says instead is, “It’s good to see you out, Buck” and the shadows vanish and Steve feels suddenly awkward. He is smiling, though; he can’t help it. 

“It’s good to see you home, Cap,” says Bucky and he hardly ever called Steve anything other than Steve so maybe that is something else lost to the shadows. It scarcely seems to matter when Bucky’s removed his arms from Darcy’s shoulders and giving Steve a hug that is just an embrace for old friendship’s sake, and there is no murder and there is no space between them. 

“How come Bucky gets a hug and the rest of us don’t?” asks Clint. 

Bucky laughs. “‘Cause Steve’d snap you like a twig, Barton. You’re not nearly man enough -”

Steve sees Darcy smiling faintly as she sips her cocktail through an incredibly convoluted straw and he doesn’t think he imagines the fondness there. It’s good, though. It’s good that Bucky has friends and Steve moves around the corner to a free stool by the bar. 

Tony comes over, wiping a pint glass with a towel and Steve thinks that maybe Tony’s enjoying this too much; playing at being an every-man or a working man when Tony Stark is anything but extraordinary.

“What can I get for you, Cap?” he asks. “The usual?”

Steve has no idea what the usual is but he nods.

“Your boy’s doing well,” says Tony. 

Steve is tired of telling everyone that Bucky is not his boy. After two months away, he thinks that maybe Bucky’s making his own way and it seems that no one understand that Steve followed Bucky first. He follows Tony’s gaze, though, and Bucky’s leaning against Clint and laughing about something and it’s a bit like London, in the War, though there’s no Blitz (even if it feels like the roof’s going to come crashing down on Steve’s head any day now).

.

They’re up on the roof of the Mansion and Bucky takes a deep breath. It’s not such a big freedom, in comparison to all the liberty he’s been granted over the past two months, but he can’t keep from smiling.

Steve is leaning against the railing, his back to the city, and his eyes are half-closed against the sun and Bucky can’t help it; he wraps his arm around Steve’s neck and ruffles his hair, laughing when Steve mutters gerroff with no heat whatsover. 

Steve’s arm settles around Bucky’s shoulders in return and they stand, shoulder to shoulder, looking up at Stark Tower and Steve starts to tell Bucky about the damage that was done in the fight against the Chitauri and Bucky’s not really listening to anything other than the sound of Steve’s voice.

.

Steve wants to ask Bucky about Darcy. He sees them together in the canteen, though they’re never alone, because Bucky is some kind of epicentre for chaos and laughter, and Clint always joins them, and Coulson, when he remembers to it, and even Agent Sitwell is there but Steve thinks that’s less out of choice and more because of duty. Sitwell is one of the agents tasked to the Winter Soldier and he’s not so subtle about it as Coulson.

.

“We want to put Barnes through his paces,” says Fury and Steve nods, setting aside the mission reports he’s been trying to read. He’s mostly been resisting the urge to doodle in the margins.

“What do you have in mind?”

“He’s aced the shooting tests and he regularly lays out our agents so the real test is going to be how he reacts when sparring with Natasha.” Fury pauses. It’s entirely unnecessary because Steve can fill in the gaps. 

“And with me?”

“Got it in one, Cap.” 

“When are we -?”

“This afternoon, unless that paperwork’s too compelling.” Fury grins because he knows that Steve approaches paperwork as he approaches any duty, but with considerably less enthusiasm.

When he makes his way to the training room, Steve’s not that surprised that they have an audience. Bucky’s leaning against a treadmill, gesturing while talking to Agent Coulson, and Fury and Hill are standing near the door, with Natasha, whose arms are folded and whose eyes are guarded. 

“Ready for a little rough and tumble, Cap?” calls Tony. He’s in the corner of the room, with Bruce, and they’ve got any number of monitors set up. “We’re gonna be keeping an eye on everyone’s vitals.” He turns to jab a finger in Fury’s direction. “Especially yours, Nick. Your BP’s a bit high. You’ve been at Mabel’s cookies, haven’t you?”

Steve can hear Fury’s low huff of amusement as he walks towards Bucky. 

“You ready for - “

He doesn’t get the chance to finish his question before Bucky attacks. Clint’s whoops are distant and he’s always been a bit bloodthirsty and it takes most of Steve’s concentration to parry Bucky’s strikes. The cybernetic arm is hard; it’s a juggernaut and Bucky doesn’t pull his punches. 

“I’ve been thinking of putting a repulsor in the palm,” says Tony, loud enough for the combatants to hear.

“If you think he needs the help,” says Steve, though he’s grunting with the effort of holding Bucky off. Bucky’s grin is bright and sharp around the edges. Steve punches it.

This could go on for a while. There are no rounds and there is no bell or _time, gentlemen, please_ and this is not sport and this is supposed to be a sport of kings, except Bucky’s legs are clamped around Steve’s head and it’s a disconcerting move when Natasha does it and Steve doesn’t have words for it now. He clamps his hands around Bucky’s thighs, forcing them open and all he can hear is his own laboured breathing. 

Steve is a good man but he is not above playing dirty; he trails almost-light fingertips behind Bucky’s knee and Bucky loosens his hold in an instant. 

Bucky is laughing. Bucky is laughing and his teeth are red with his own blood and the Winter Soldier cannot be laid low because he is ticklish but this is Steve and this is Bucky and Bucky always taught him to play on the weakness of others. It is not Bucky’s fault that Steve could rarely bring himself to do so. 

Now Steve is on top of Bucky, who’s face down on the carpet, and Tony says, “Say ‘uncle’, Barnes!” but Steve knows that Bucky never gives up and he’s squirming beneath Steve and Steve’s breath catches in his throat and he can feel Bucky’s grin against his cheek. 

Bucky uses Steve’s momentary lapse, and the power of his left arm, to force him back and now Steve’s on his back and Bucky’s back is pressed against Steve’s chest and Steve’s hands are grappling furiously with Bucky’s. 

“I swear I saw a porno like this once,” says Clint and that doesn’t help at all and then Fury says that it’s been two hours and Steve releases Bucky, who rolls off him, and they blink at each other and Steve doesn’t know what to say.

“Time flies when you’re having fun,” says Bruce and Steve lies back down, his chest rising and falling with reluctant laughter and Bucky’s fingers close around his wrist and that doesn’t help at all. 

.

‘So, Cap’s in love with you,” says Clint. 

They’re on the roof because it’s Bucky’s favourite place now and he doesn’t even have to leave the premises which means Nick Fury can sleep soundly at night.

He raises the vodka bottle to his lips and takes a long swallow. He is nonchalant; he doesn’t care and Clint is clearly wasted. Bucky hands the bottle to him. “You do know that a sparring match isn’t a declaration of love? If it was, I’d be making time with - “

“All of the agents of SHIELD, I know,” says Clint. His smile is a smirk and it gets under Bucky’s skin in all the best ways. “And they’re lining up to make time with you, my man.” He takes a drink and grimaces. “Fuck, how do you and Natasha put this shit away like it’s water?”

Bucky’s answering smile is a little bleak. “Trust me when I say that Russia exports the good stuff.” He takes the bottle back. “And this is good stuff.” He kind of misses the cheap vodka in Moscow; it burned his throat and reminded him, sometimes, that he had been human. It sharpened his mind and it warmed him and hours on snowy rooftops were less problematic with a bottle of Flagman by his side. 

“So, you and Darcy.” Clint is as subtle as a brick wall. 

Bucky nods. “She’s pretty swell, sure,” he says. He narrows his eyes. “But she’s seeing someone else.”

Clint splutters. “What? Why wasn’t I informed about this? Who’s she seeing? I swear, if it’s that guy down in R&D, I’m gonna have words with her.”

It’s pretty funny, really. Bucky thinks that Clint is trying to commiserate but Bucky’s pretty okay with Darcy seeing other people. He knows he’s not exactly the best catch in the superhero pool and since Steve got back and Fury’s been riding his ass about getting in fighting shape, Bucky’s been sort of distracted. “No, she’s seeing that guy - Johnny Storm?”

Clint opens his mouth but apparently he’s speechless. His jaw works soundlessly and Bucky drinks while he waits, and it’s burning in his throat and it’s snowy rooftops and waiting for the call. “That fucker,” says Clint. “He’s not good enough for her.” He is resolute. He takes back the bottle. 

There is silence and there is no snow. Bucky hesitates. “About Cap-?”

“Oh, yeah. Totally in love with you. It’s pretty clear,” says Clint. 

“While I’m not doubting your eyesight-”

“Don’t.” Clint holds up one finger warningly. Bucky wonders if Clint’s seeing double yet. “I mean, I’ve got the best eyesight, for starters, but also - hey. Are you in love with Cap?”

Bucky’s eyes widen. “It’s Steve,” he says, after a pause, because that should explain it. It’s Steve who was so brittle and fragile and now it takes all of Bucky’s enhanced strength to pry open Steve’s grip. It’s Steve who grins crookedly when Bucky embarks on some story of what he’s gonna do when he gets more freedom and he’s going to Brooklyn to see their old neighbourhood and it’s Steve who hesitates in the cafeteria, even when Bucky moves along the bench to make room for him because Steve has always been that awkward kid who doesn’t know he has friends who’d die for him, who’d take a hit for him, who’d give anything to have been able to reach his hand. “I mean. It’s Steve. He’s Captain Fucking America. He’s everyone’s hero. He actually helped an old lady over the road yesterday, did you know that? He’s fucking ridiculous, Barton. He thinks Starbucks is a novelty and that got old to me when I was, you know.” He gestures to encompass the Red Room and the other side. 

Clint looks disgruntled. “You could’ve just said yes, man.” 

.

Sometimes, the Avengers don’t have to go looking for supervillains. The supervillains come to Manhattan and wreak destruction on the Avengers’ front door. It’s a Saturday morning and Clint had great plans for a foosball tournament and then a video call came through from Fury and now it’s all assemble.

Steve feels bad leaving Bucky behind, under the watchful eye of Jasper Sitwell and some junior agents. Bucky scuffs his toe against the hardwood floor in the lobby and Steve offers him a reassuring smile but Bucky just scowls.

“I feel next to useless,” Bucky says, his voice a low, unhappy growl. Steve has no idea when Fury intends to alter Bucky’s field status but it seems that today is not that day.

“Cheer up,” says Stark as he jogs past. “You can help JARVIS make the victory Kool-Aid.”

“I hate you.”

Steve doesn’t dwell on Bucky’s cabin fever for too long; the supervillain in question is something of an amateur, which means that the collateral damage is likely to be far in excess of any actual destructive intent. Usually, amateurs are men with grudges, like the one in Nebraska who was fired from his comic store job and just wanted some real superheroes to show up when he threatened to vapourise Kearney.  The Hulk obliged.

This particular individual has an affinity for home-made bombs and has rigged the Chrysler Building with the sort of half-assed incendiary tech that makes Iron Man cry.

“And this is why people shouldn’t be allowed to buy explosives on the internet,” he says, his voice distorted through the comms. “You guys distract him. I’ll neutralise the device.”

Hawkeye takes distraction to an art form so he’s the obvious target for the bad guy, who has some ridiculous name like Destructo-Guy or Hurts-Man, and soon he’s sprinting in the direction of downtown, drawing the hostile away from Stark and towards Steve and the Widow.

“I think we should consider downgrading Bomb Threat from ‘super’ to just ‘villain’,” says Hawkeye he comes into view, just a block away, and he’s being pursued by this month’s disgruntled employee (Steve can’t bring himself even to think the villain’s name). Hawkeye’s not even out of breath but then there’s an explosion and Hawkeye’s sent flying and large chunks of masonry are tumbling from the sky and Hawkeye is going to get hit except that there’s a blur out of nowhere and Hawkeye tumbles into the alleyway alongside Steve, clasping his ribs. His face is screwed up in pain but he’s turning on his heel and –

“Bucky!”

Steve doesn’t stop to think. Bucky’s out in the street, being rained on by chunks of metal and concrete and glass and there’s only so much he can do with his arm and it’s giving off sparks and Tony’ll probably bitch about the damage to the finish but it doesn’t matter because Steve’s arm is around Bucky’s waist and he’s holding his shield over their heads and he is furious but, for some reason, he presses a hard kiss to Bucky’s mouth right before he drags him back to the cover of the alleyway. Black Widow is kneeling next to Hawkeye and Steve has no clue where Coulson came from, except his face is grim and he’s kneeling on the other side of Hawkeye, who actually smiles when he sees Bucky.

They fistbump. Steve can’t believe it. Hawkeye’s bloodstained knuckles bounce off Bucky’s metal knuckles and they’re both smiling.

“I was toast, man,” says Hawkeye and Steve thinks that maybe he’s a little punch-drunk. “But you got me out of there.”

Steve looks at Bucky who shoves his hands in his pockets and shrugs. “I was bored,” he says.

“You were in SHIELD custody,” says Coulson.

“Well, why don’t you tell the kids not to taze my metal arm and maybe we can talk about who the responsible adult in that situation is?”

“’s cool, Coulson,” says Hawkeye, still grinning. He fumbles to catch his fingers on Coulson’s sleeve. “He fucking bodily flung me out of the way of that Duane Reade sign. It was fucking awesome and that’s not just the concussion talking.”

“Guys, what the fuck’s happening down there?” asks Iron Man. “I got the Chrysler device disarmed and Crazy-cakes down there’s headed straight into the loving arms of Thor and the Hulk. Net’s closing in.”

Steve speaks into his comm. “Bucky and I will cover them.”

Everyone looks surprised at that, including Bucky. Coulson’s lips thin and he still hasn’t extricated himself from Hawkeye’s grip. He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a handgun. He holds it out to Bucky. Today is full of surprises.

Bucky takes it and inclines his head.

“Lead the way, Captain.”

.

After, in the reinforced glass cell, Bucky paces until Steve comes down. The glass is soundproof so Bucky can’t hear what Steve is saying to the guards but they look disgruntled and Steve looks thunderous and the door slides open.

Bucky comes to a stop and Steve steps into the cell. He raises his hand and indicates to the guards to reseal the door.

“What was that about?” asks Steve.

“Which part? The bit where I saved Clint’s life or the bit where you kissed me in the field?”

Bucky’s curious about how Steve’s going to justify that and he’s a little gratified to see how Steve flushes but it stands to reason that the good captain would recover himself quickly, folding his arms and glaring down at Bucky. “The bit where you laid out three junior agents and tied up Agent Sitwell. Please, Bucky, explain.”

“They were hardly going to let me go even if I asked nicely.” Bucky thinks he’s being entirely reasonable. “I was –“

Steve holds up a finger. “Don’t say you were bored. Don’t. It’s not a game, Bucky. What we do isn’t for fun.”

Bucky stares at Steve, up at Steve (even seventy years later, he cannot get used to this height difference) and he scowls. “Fuck you, Rogers. I left because I couldn’t sit there and do nothing  while you were all -” He gestures at the glass, trying to encompass the part where there’s a big bad world out there and he’s sick of being so far removed from it that he might as well still be frozen, stashed away in some glorified meat locker in the Caucasus. He feels defiant as he clenches his fist and there is a relic or a remnant of sinewy grace as the metal gleams dully in the dim lights. “Could you?”

“Could I what?” asks Steve. He looks a little bewildered and Bucky doesn’t know why when the question is so very simple.

“Could you fucking stay behind while I went to war?” Bucky is triumphant and he points at Steve, jabbing his fingertip at Steve’s chest. “Wait. We all know the answer to that one, don’t we?” From this close, he can see Steve swallow and, in a vicious moment, he hope it sticks; he hope it hurts.

He’s taken aback when Steve raises his hand and closes it around Bucky’s wrist. Steve looks a little dazed and that maybe explains something but it still doesn’t quite make sense to Bucky.

“Does it hurt?” asks Steve.

“It’s – it’s made of metal,” says Bucky, a little dumbly. And then, as though echoing some old lesson, beaten into him with the hammering of metal and pain: “Nociception is not considered an advantage unless in a disciplinary capacity.”

Steve looks startled and Bucky shrugs. “They figured that I should be able to feel changes in temperature but that pain was a weakness.”

For the first time, Steve glides his hand over Bucky’s arm. He bows his head, studying it closely, each join and joint and smooth, hidden rivet. His fingers trace over the star and Bucky will never change it. It doesn’t seem too strange to allow Steve to pull off his t-shirt (one of SHIELD’s apparently endless stock of plain black shirts) and toss it aside. Steve is frowning now and his fingertips are gentle as he traces the boundary of metal and skin. Bucky shivers though it’s not cold in here. Gooseflesh ripples across his chest and down his other arm. He doesn’t understand.

“How did they-?”

Bucky tries to speak and has to clear his throat before the words come out. He has been under Steve’s scrutiny in the past but there is something unyielding and single-minded about how Steve is examining him now.  “My collar-bone is metal. My scapula too. They had to remove the original bones because they wouldn’t have been strong enough to withstand – well. My purpose.”

Steve raises his head. He is clearly horrified. “They – ?”

Bucky knows that his smile is grim, though he’s gotten so much better at smiling these days. “I think they call it disarticulation. Or maybe dismemberment. I don’t really remember it, though. I-“ He is cut off when Steve lowers his mouth to the join of the metal casing and skin, his lips just brushing over Bucky’s shoulder where he can feel and Bucky lets out a shivering, quivering sigh.

(Neither of them notice that Steve is still wearing his uniform and that Bucky hasn’t tried to kill him.)

“What are these from?” Steve whispers and he runs his fingers over indentations and scratches, right at the border of metal and skin. There are corresponding white scars on his shoulder. Bucky closes his eyes.

“That’s where General Ross’s boys tried to remove it.”

Bucky doesn’t need to look to know that Steve is gripping his wrist hard; he doesn’t need any pressure sensors or fake nerves or anything other than his own brain (and his own heart) to know that Steve is angry and he doesn’t know how to cope with Steve when he’s angry so he just sighs again and tilts his head, exposing the line of his neck and Steve makes this grumbling, miserable sound, low in his throat, and then Bucky feels the whisper of Steve’s lips on his skin and the touch of his tongue. As he raises his hand to touch Steve’s hair, his eyes drift closed and Steve’s mouth drags up the side of his neck, to the angle of his jaw, gliding over stubble until they are breathing each other. It is like their sparring session. It is nothing like their sparring session.

“Steve?”

Steve cants his head back just enough to look Bucky in the eyes because he has always been brave beyond all reason.

“We’re in a glass box.” Bucky swallows hard and he’s having to fight to keep from grinning because, even in spite of everything, in spite of recurrent incarceration, recurrent nightmares, recurrent doubts, he can still see the funny side to this. “People can see.”

Steve snorts; it’s a flare of nostrils that might be amusement or it might be annoyance and Bucky doesn’t know when he stopped being able to read Steve Rogers like a book, or why it is that people like Clint Barton can see more clearly, but he thinks it may have been because seventy years ago, their hands didn’t connect the way they’re joining now, and Bucky fell into winter.

When Steve turns around, the guards duck their heads, as though they haven’t been staring and, with that same uncharacteristic impatience, he indicates to the guards to open the cell. They look as though they want to object but this is Captain America and, if his fingers are twined with those of the Winter Soldier (whose mouth is latched onto Captain America’s shoulder, whose teeth are digging into blue fabric, whose eyes are fixed on them), they are in no position to argue. Their choice is no choice; they cannot imprison Captain America and so they have to release the Winter Soldier.

Steve stoops to pick up Bucky’s discarded t-shirt and shoves it at his chest. “We wouldn’t like people to get the wrong idea,” he says and there is something light and almost teasing in his tone (at last) and they both know that the wrong idea is very much the right idea.

.

Steve thinks that it’s all very academic. It’s not as though they’re leaving the state, or even the city. The Avengers Mansion is as safe a cell as any. He doesn’t know what’s come over him, though. He cannot let go of Bucky’s hand. Though he is furious with Bucky for failing to play by the rules of this engagement, he is proud, too; Bucky escaped SHIELD custody but it was to help the Avengers. He saved Clint’s life, certainly, and he helped to apprehend a villain, even if the villain himself was largely incompetent.

He can still feel the indentations of Bucky’s teeth in his shoulder. He makes himself let go of Bucky’s hand and wonders if Bucky feels the same sudden coldness at the absence of skin to skin and skin to metal.

They make their way to the residential quarters and, somehow, Steve is surprised that the living room is full and lively, even though it always is following a successful mission. Clint, who should probably be in Medical, is stretched out on the couch and his head is in Coulson’s lap, which is an unexpected development.  Coulson’s fingers are buried in Clint’s hair and Clint’s got this lazy grin on his face that may have less to do with painkillers and more to do with the way his arm is wrapped around Coulson’s leg like he’s an anchor or blessed driftwood. Natasha is curled up in an armchair, leaning over the arm and chewing her lip as she studies the chessboard set up between her and Bruce. Tony and Thor are at the bar with Jane and Pepper and Darcy, and Tony’s mixing cocktails like he’s in that Tom Cruise movie that someone made Steve watch a few months ago.

“My hero,” says Clint, in a funny sort of croon, just as soon as he sets eyes on Bucky. Steve reconsiders his previous assumption; Clint is under the influence of something more than Phil Coulson. “And Captain, my Captain.”

Tony comes over to them, a glass in each hand. “Drink up, boys. These may or may not be mixed particularly with your enhanced physiology in mind. I’ve decided to call it the Hulk.” He gestures towards Bruce. “In honour of Dr Banner’s continuing commitment to its creation.”

“You knew we were coming-” starts Steve and he hates the way heat rises in his cheeks because of course Tony knows what happens in every corner of this building and every building wired up to the SHIELD network.

“JARVIS may have mentioned that you were springing Sergeant Barnes here,” says Tony and his eyes meet Steve’s long enough for Steve to understand. Tony nods, just once, and it’s as good as a blessing.

Bucky wanders over to Natasha and Bruce and looks down at the game. His lips curve into a smile and he shakes his head and Bruce looks startled and immediately studies the board again. Steve sits down in an armchair near Clint and Coulson.

“Sergeant Barnes should be in custody,” says Coulson, his voice as mild as ever. His fingers tighten in Clint’s hair.

“He’s in my custody,” says Steve. He sips his drink. It’s both bitter and sweet.

“Does Fury –“

“Bucky saved Clint’s life today,” says Steve. Warmth suffuses his bones. “I don’t know how much more Director Fury expects from him. Surely he’s proven himself now.”

Coulson looks thoughtful but he doesn’t argue; he seldom opposes Captain America even if he and Steve occasionally butt heads. (Steve is still wearing his uniform.)

“He saved my life.” Clint’s murmuring now, almost incoherent, and something like a smile appears on Coulson’s face and Steve feels like he’s intruding and he looks away. Tony walks over and claps him on the shoulder.

“You hungry, Cap?”

 

Steve can’t remember the last time he ate and he looks up at Tony, a little sheepishly. Tony grins, wolfish. “JARVIS?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Put in a call to that pizza place in Carroll Gardens. Tell ‘em we need eight pizzas, ASAP.”

“I don’t believe that they deliver, sir.” JARVIS pauses. “And given their location in Brooklyn, unless one travels by air, there is no guarantee that the pizza will retain optimum temperature for ingestion.”

Tony laughs. “Then I’m suiting up. Iron Man pizza delivery service is a go.”  
                                                                                                                                                   
Steve is almost positive he hears JARVIS sigh.

.

After the pizza and a few more drinks, his limbs heavy once more, Steve stands up. Natasha and Bruce are still playing the same chess game and Tony declares that they should decide the outcome with Twister, instead.

“My money’s on Natashenka, in that case,” says Bucky. His elbow brushes against Steve’s. His eyelids are heavy and there’s a flush in his cheeks. He passes his tongue over his lower lip.

“You’re right,” says Tony. “She’s probably bendier than Bruce. No insult intended, man. She is bendier, right, James? Clint?”

Steve makes his excuses, perhaps a little abruptly, but he is tired, it’s been a long day and he doesn’t really want to think about Natasha being bendy, not when Bucky is flushed and sleepy and smiling. He’s surprised when Bucky leaves with him and they walk alongside each other down the corridor and it is only natural when Bucky pushes Steve against the wall and licks a stripe up his throat to his lips. Steve wraps his arms around Bucky, hauling him close and they are forehead to forehead when JARVIS’ voice sounds out.

“Captain Rogers. Sergeant Barnes. If I may remind you that there is continuous security feed of this corridor and Mr Stark has installed certain subroutines-“

Bucky groans. “I only understood about a third of that and it was mostly something-something-Stark. C’mon.” He grabs Steve’s hand and Steve doesn’t know when metal fingers became as comforting as skin and whorled fingertips and scarred knuckles. Steve’s room is closer and he allows Bucky to drag him inside but once they are in his room, it is Steve who turns and pins Bucky against the door and it is Steve who yanks at the collar of Bucky’s t-shirt, tearing it in two so that he can trail kisses along Bucky’s collarbone, where there is a thready, old scar, and Steve doesn’t want to think about its origin, even as he traces his tongue along its length, and Bucky’s skin is salty and there is providence in tears and in sweat and in Bucky’s suffering. He can feel Bucky moan, vibrating deep in his chest, reverberating against Steve’s lips and Bucky is plucking at Steve’s clothes, rather ineffectively.

“Off,” says Bucky and Steve chuckles at the petulance in that single word and he lifts his head to see Bucky’s wide smile and he kisses it, he kisses Bucky’s smile, he drinks it in and he swallows his laugh and he drops to his knees. Bucky’s fingers tighten in Steve’s hair, kneading and gripping, and his voice is small and broken.

“Steve?”

Steve looks up at him briefly and offers him a smile and, suddenly, Bucky looks to be incapable of smiling, his eyes wide and disbelieving, but he touches his fingertips to Steve’s jaw and Steve leans into the touch and he doesn’t care if it bruises when Bucky clutches him tight, his metal fingers spasming, his thumb digging into Steve’s cheekbone as Steve pulls down his jeans and breathes over Bucky’s cock and, though Steve is blushing now, he knows what to do, and he closes his mouth around the tip and he sucks lightly, tongue coiling, and his blood sings and he knows he is echoing the humming of Bucky’s blood. Bucky’s hips snap and Steve murmurs something soothing, something nonsensical, something entirely incoherent and muffled by his mouthful. He clasps Bucky’s hips and Bucky will wear his bruises, too. It doesn’t take long before Steve feels the stuttering in Bucky’s pulse and he is swallowing; no, he is greedier than that; he is greedy and guzzling and he is faintly aware of Bucky’s gasps of Jesus, Steve, Steve-

And then Bucky knees are buckling and he’s on the floor with Steve, arms fumbling, grasping and now tight around Steve’s shoulders and he’s shaking in Steve’s embrace, face tucked against Steve’s neck.

“Fuck,” he murmurs eventually. He kisses Steve and he must taste himself because Steve can still taste him and then Bucky’s groaning again. “Fuck. They teach that when you became a superhero?”

Steve’s laugh is soundless, just a rumble in his chest. “What? You thought I was a virgin?”

“Mmm, you sure blush enough for one.” Bucky rubs his cheek against Steve’s.

“You were there when I became a superhero, Buck,” says Steve and he’s mouthing at Bucky’s neck again.

“I was,” says Bucky, his tone a little wistful and Steve doesn’t understand but he manages to stand up and haul Bucky to his feet, too, and together they peel Steve out of his uniform and skin to skin is a language Steve understands, with handprints and sighs and easy laughter.  
.

Bucky wakes up with a jolt. He is being pressed into the mattress but that is not why he’s panicking. There’s a warm, solid, breathing weight on his back; Steve’s leg is between both of Bucky’s and Steve’s body is draped over him and it makes it difficult for Bucky to breathe.

“Raise your hands. Slowly now, Sergeant Barnes.”

Bucky buries his face in the pillow briefly as Steve wakes up, alert in an instant. Steve rolls off him and Bucky hears a cough from the doorway. The bed moves; Steve is sitting up and he’s breathing fast.

“Fellas, haven’t you ever heard of knocking?” Bucky sits up too and now he’s shoulder-to-shoulder with Steve and it’d be a lot more impressive if they weren’t naked and if Steve wasn’t clutching a pillow to his lap. He looks around the room. Eight SHIELD agents with their guns trained on Bucky, like he and Steve couldn’t take them if they tried.

“What’s the meaning of this?” asks Steve. His voice is firm and it doesn’t shake. Steve Rogers is demanding an explanation for this intrusion and Captain America’s uniform is crumpled on the floor at the foot of the bed.

“We understand that Sergeant Barnes left custody last night and we’re bringing him back in, sir,” says one guard and she looks rather flushed as she fixes her gaze at a point above Steve’s head.

“Sergeant Barnes hasn’t left my custody all night,” says Steve and Bucky wonders if that’s what the kids are calling it these days but this is not the time for levity and laughter (but, oh, it should be on this morning, when he has woken up with Steve for the first time and he can smell Steve on his skin and in his pores; he should be laughing and pinning Steve to the bed just to see him blush).

“I’m sorry, sir. It’s just. It was unclear how he left his cell and the alarm was raised when he wasn’t in his usual quarters.”

Bucky frowns and Steve mutters, almost too quietly to be heard, Stark, and Bucky gets it; he gets that Tony must have interfered with the security feeds so that Steve would not be implicated and even though that doesn’t explain why the guards didn’t say anything, he also gets that protecting Steve is everyone’s main priority, but now Bucky looks like the guy who sneaked into Captain America’s bedroom, having staged a prison break.

“So, if you’ll come with us, Sergeant Barnes, I’m sure everything will be cleared up soon.”

Bucky nods and when Steve lays a heavy hand on his thigh, he grins. “’s okay, buddy.” He links his fingers with Steve’s briefly as he moves Steve’s hand. “I guess it’s too much to ask you guys to turn around while I find my pants?”

He thought as much. Bucky wants to lean in and kiss Steve and give them something to stare at. He wants to lick along Steve’s jaw, where the muscles are clenched tight with stress. He wants to whisper in Steve’s ear that he can still feel him inside and he’ll come back tonight, if they’ll let him, because he thinks he needs Steve, like air, like death, like laughter. Instead, he picks up his jeans and pulls them on. These might be Steve’s socks but he’s going to wear them anyway and he toes on his shoes. His t-shirt is a rag on the floor and so he shrugs.

“Shall we?”

Steve shoots to his feet and rummages in a drawer. He throws a hooded sweatshirt towards Bucky. It might say Stark Industries on it but it’s the first non-SHIELD item of clothing Bucky’s received since he arrived here. He’ll take it. He allows the agents to escort him back to his cell and he tips a salute to Clint, who’s leaning against the doorframe of his own room.

“James, what the fuck-?”

“’s okay, Clint. I’m going quietly.”

.

As Bucky is led away, Steve pulls on sweatpants and steps out into the corridor. Clint is there, running one hand through his hair, which is beyond salvage, defying, the laws of gravity. He’s looking a great deal better after yesterday’s exertions which is heartening to see (or would be, if Bucky wasn’t being led away).

“So, Cap. We gonna talk about Bucky doing the walk of shame outta your room or about how he was escorted by a bunch of guys with guns?”

Steve raises his chin and looks at Clint steadily and he knows that he’s blushing but he can readily ignore that in favour of the more pressing issue.

“You’re the one who told me to spend more time with him,” he says. The elevator doors close and Bucky is gone.

“And I can’t say how happy it makes me that you took it to heart like this - “ Clint is interrupted by his own door opening and Agent Coulson steps out. Steve doesn’t know what to say.

“Captain Rogers,” says Coulson, as he straightens his tie. He looks remarkably put together.

“Agent Coulson,” says Steve.

 

Clint claps his hands together. “Okay, I’m gonna let you two bond a while. I gotta get dressed.” He steps back into his room, gliding his hand down Coulson’s arm before relinquishing him.

 

“I just learned a new phrase from Clint,” says Steve, as though he’s not distracted by the empty corridor, his empty room, the empty bed.

“I dread to ask-” says Coulson.

Steve’s lips quirk into a grin. “Walk of shame?”

Coulson holds up a hand. “Oh, no. If Clint dropped that one on you, he can explain it.” His expression grows serious, although it has hardly been cheerful till now (perhaps just a little more relaxed than is usual for Phil Coulson). “I’ve a meeting with Fury.” He pauses a second, as though debating with himself. “Stay close to home today, Captain Rogers. We’re expecting some news.”

Steve frowns. “News?

 

Coulson offers him a smile, or it’s almost a smile, and walks down the corridor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> +As always, massive and epic thanks to Sarah, Ellie, Ellie, Neve, Lisa, Luc and everyone who's encouraged me, with comments and kudos.


End file.
